


hope lost on yesterdays

by whalersandsailors



Series: hopes, fragile & unsure [1]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Canon Compliant, During Canon, Light Angst, M/M, One Shot, Rare Pairings, post-coital conversation and longing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 13:49:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20472074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalersandsailors/pseuds/whalersandsailors
Summary: The night before his sledge party departs, Edward shares a drink and his bed.





	hope lost on yesterdays

> _—fear buries a tomorrow under woe_
> 
> _and up comes yesterday most green and young_
> 
> \- e. e. cummings

The grind is deep enough that Edward feels the vibration in his bones. It is a deep, guttural bellow, like that of a mammoth gate of iron and rust scraping open to reveal a deep descent into the bowels of the earth, beyond its molten crust into the unending conflagration of hell.

Edward jerks awake, and immediately, the heat of his grotesque dream is replaced by the chill of his dark cabin. Gooseflesh ripples along his bare shoulders, raising the hairs on his arm. One unwise inhale through his lips is enough set his teeth aching. His mouth feels dry, but there is a faint taste of wine on his tongue. The body next to him shifts, pulling more of the blanket with him, and Edward suddenly remembers where he is and who is beside him.

The ship groans again, as magnificently and terribly as a crack of lightning, and for a brief, heart-stopping second, Edward wonders if this was the final one; the wood of the ship splintering and bending to the intense pressure of the ice, crumpling inward as easily as a paper boat crushed in a child’s careless grip.

He holds his breath, counting the seconds. The wood of the deck above creaks as one of the watch crosses overhead, and there is no further noise until the ringing of the bell, seven lonely cries into the stiff, dead night.

Not tonight, then. The ice cradles the ship in its tomblike hold, tight but not crushing. Not yet.

“You’d think it get easier,” Solomon’s rumbling and sleep-filled voice says, “ignoring the ice. Damn noise wakes me up every time.”

Edward hums in response, sliding deeper under the covers of the bunk when the man beside him turns toward him and wraps a pair of strong arms around his middle. The tip of Edward’s nose brushes against the man’s beard, and he sniffs at the tickle.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Edward whispers, his eyes fluttering shut again when Solomon’s fingers start rubbing circles on his low back.

“Neither did I,” Solomon says, his breath hot on Edward’s face before he leans close enough to press a light kiss on Edward’s lips.

He sighs as he leans into Solomon’s embrace, desiring nothing more than to share the man’s warmth, his skin as hot as a furnace. Solomon nudges a leg under him, and Edward allows him to twist them around so that Edward lies on top, the new position accentuating the leftover ache between his legs. Edward’s face grows hot, as his body reminds him of the hours prior, when Sergeant Tozer had crept through the vacant wardroom to Edward’s cabin door, sliding it open quietly and quickly, without invitation, but a small and warm grin on his lips that dispelled any reprimand forming on Edward’s tongue. 

Edward’s anxieties were further loosened by the bottle of madeira that Solomon retrieved from the inner folds of his coat, lifted during the re-organizing of the ship’s stores as they prepared for the long walk across the ice. Edward had frowned at the bottle, remarking that it was Solomon’s role as a marine to maintain the statutes of the ship, not flagrantly break them. In response, Solomon had straddled Edward’s lap and tilted his chin up with his fingers.

_“And who will punish me? Can’t be the first lieutenant. He’s a habit of breaking rules himself.”_

_“What rules would those be?”_

Solomon had given him a wicked smirk as he handed him the bottle.

_“I don’t think the Admiralty takes kindly to their officers sucking cocks, sir.”_

What followed is blurred by the wine, the contents of the bottle drunk by both men within the hour as they shared a quiet conversation, their thighs and shoulders pressed together as they sat side by side on the bunk. When there was no wine left, they licked the remaining drops from each other’s lips, and when their limbs grew too hot and their clothes too restrictive, they stripped and lay on the bunk under the blankets. Edward buried his face in the pillow as Solomon draped his body along the length of his back and slowly pressed his cock inside him.

They fucked in near silence, the pillow swallowing Edward’s sighs and Solomon digging his teeth into Edward’s shoulders to muffle his moans.

Edward remembers the pain mixing with pleasure, the sensation enough to distract him and fill him with something other than the dread that had been eating away at his chest. The weeks following the disaster of Carnivale had dragged by in tense anticipation; Crozier’s announcement that they would desert the ships come spring was a constant echo in Edward’s mind. He and Crozier had dined privately the night that they discussed how Edward should lead the first party, pioneer the trek across the ice, and select a suitable location for their on-land camp. Edward had performed the motions of nodding and parroting the captain’s suggestions, but every bite of food tasted of ash, each swallow requiring grievous effort so that he did not choke.

Something in Edward’s manner changed that night, beyond his usual stoicism. Perhaps it was the tangible threat of death; the creature haunting their steps on the ice or the abandonment of their only shelter. Perhaps it was the acceptance that their expedition had failed, and now, they were simply trying to escape the Arctic with as few casualties as possible.

That night was also when Sergeant Tozer—some unspeakable quality also altered in him, following Carnivale and the death of Private Heather—had crossed the threshold into officer country for the first time and elbowed his way into Edward’s cabin and bed.

The bell on deck rings eight times.

Edward presses his cheek against the rounded muscle of Solomon’s shoulder, and he sighs when Solomon drags his fingers along the hair curling at the nape of his neck.

“I should leave,” Solomon murmurs. “You’ve an early start tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Edward agrees, his voice flat.

Neither man moves. Edward’s eyes remain shut, and Solomon presses his lips to the crown of Edward’s head. Unease racks Edward’s body like a gust of howling wind, and Solomon tightens his embrace when the tremors worsen. Edward’s hands curl slowly into tight fists as he tries to keep his breaths even.

“I don’t want to go,” he admits, the words falling from his tongue like the last leaves clinging to a long-dead tree.

“You don’t have to. This is your cabin.”

The attempt at humor is poor, but the irritation in Edward’s voice is dulled by his exhaustion.

“The ships, Tozer. I don’t want to leave the ships.”

Solomon does not answer this time, but he still makes no move to sit up.

“I envy those already dead,” Edward continues, the words heavy in his mouth. “They don’t suffer as we do.”

Edward almost expects a rebuke from the sergeant, firmly chastising the lack of bravery and honor in Edward’s admission.

Instead, Solomon’s voice is muffled by the hair on Edward’s head when he says, “We may die yet, and all this will finally be over.”

The words are both a comfort and a horror, and Edward kisses him for it. A minute more, and Solomon untangles himself from the bed linens and Edward’s arms. Both men redress—Solomon, for his short trek back to the fo’c’sle, and Edward, to replace the warmth rapidly disappearing from his now empty bed. He knows that sleep will come irregularly for the next few hours, and he smothers the desire to ask Solomon to stay, to share his pillow and his warmth and chase away the waking nightmare for a few, precious minutes more.

Edward sits on the edge of his bunk, and Solomon’s knees bump into his as the man fumbles toward him in the darkness. Solomon gropes for Edward’s hand, and he unfurls each finger, tracing the lines along Edward’s palm. The longer he stands there, holding Edward’s hand, the more that Edward fights the urge to interlace their fingers and pull Solomon back.

Solomon’s fingers gradually stop, and he leans over Edward to press a long kiss into the center of his palm.

“See you on the other side, sir,” he says as his goodbye before he slides the door open and leaves.

Edward settles himself back into his bed, burying his nose into the portion of his pillow where traces of Solomon’s scent clings.

He tries to sleep, but the ice keeps him awake, grating like the inevitable ticking of a clock.

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](https://whalersandsailors.tumblr.com)


End file.
